


The Hundred Ways to Love

by bornforwar_archivist



Category: Xena: Warrior Princess
Genre: Episode Related, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-31
Updated: 2006-12-31
Packaged: 2020-03-13 05:14:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18934174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bornforwar_archivist/pseuds/bornforwar_archivist
Summary: By CarlyThis is an Eve-centric post FIN fic.





	The Hundred Ways to Love

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Delenn, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Born For War](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Born_For_War), which closed in 2015. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in March 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Born For War collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bornforwar).

I took a lover from the plains. He was from the tribe of Borias, some kin or by-blow, perhaps. Strange how I always took my mother’s leavings.

 

I loved his freedom; his whole life seemed to me to be that moment, when the water was poured on my head and my guilt was lifted. Before the burdens of duty and danger settled. Those are things he knew nothing of; he courted danger, understood nothing of duty.

 

How I loved him. How I loved him. When I explained my message, that peace and love could change our world, he listened without argument, without a laugh of derision. But he looked at me carefully.

 

That time has not come yet, he said. Perhaps it will, but for now do not be impatient. It takes a great deal to change a single man’s heart, and you hope to change the world.

 

I don’t think I even changed his heart. After his child was conceived, it died within me. When I pushed the tiny body out, the women surrounding me assured me it was not uncommon to lose the first baby, that I would have many others. But it was I who held my small white son in my arms. Seeing him, I had no hope.

 

I left my lover soon after that, and settled in a small village in Chin. They knew much of blood and despair; they welcomed me, welcomed my message. When the guards came, I remember smiling at my enemies; I remember walking away quietly between them, in order not to frighten the children. In truth, I was not frightened myself. An Elijan expects persecution; but it was not that which comforted me. I knew that Xena had come after me once, and that if I ever needed her, she would save me again.

 

I waited five years within the tortured depths of a Chin prison, and she never came for me. It took some time for despair to set in. At first my faith sustained me. But soon I dwelt more on the hope I had of my rescue and restoration to my mother’s arms than the peace I had within Eli. And then my anger at my betrayal grew, until it was all I had. I killed a guard, then; I escaped the Chin prison to return to Greece.

 

*****

 

He saw me coming from afar and he ran to me, his eyes shining. His familiar face broke something inside me; I knew all my anger and resentment would disappear once I was safe within my mother’s arms. I hugged Virgil, and looked at him, smiling.

 

Are they here, I questioned him eagerly. I looked down at the village, knowing that I would spot my mother’s figure in a crowd, no matter the distance.

 

Everything about Virgil stilled, then. His face paused; his body froze. I shut down, I hid myself far away within until I could only see a little, only hear as though from a great distance.

 

I sent word, he said, tears springing up in his own eyes. I sent word, but I wasn’t sure where you were.

 

I swung my arm slowly around and hit him as hard as I could. He took the full force of the blow, but when I moved to hit him again, he put up his own hand and stopped my fist. Then when I tried to turn and leave, his hand remained; he was as strong as me. We stayed there in a silent struggle, his face transformed by sorrow, mine frozen and expressionless.

 

I can’t let you go without knowing everything, he said finally. I have all of Gabrielle’s scrolls . . .

 

I bent over then and screamed, my hands about my head. I shook my head again and again, screaming, while Virgil held me and sobbed at my distress. I pulled at my hair and bit at my own arms, rocking and screaming wordlessly. There was only blackness; there was only despair. I think I must have passed out finally, because it was hours later that I found myself on a bed in a small sunny room, my face sticky with my own tears.

 

When Virgil saw me awaken, he sat beside me and told me what had happened to Xena in Jappa. How Gabrielle had returned with the final scroll, and then had left without quill or ink.

 

I listened to the story as though that was all it was; I had no energy even to close my eyes, once they had connected with his.

 

She returned with Beowulf; they shared many adventures together, Virgil said quietly. And finally, they died together.

 

Then he took my hand and opened a little door. On a small bed there lay a child, his head a mass of fair curls.

 

Gabrielle left a child, he told me softly, so as not to wake the boy. He shut the door, led me back to my bed. A strange fleeting expression crossed his face.

 

What is it, I asked.

 

She cried when he was born, Virgil admitted, looking out the window. She cried because Xena wasn’t there to see him.

 

I knew what he would say next.

 

She named him Lyceus –

 

As though she hadn’t done enough by dying. I suddenly knew why Ares had wanted to kill Xena. I wanted to kill her, too, but she was already dead.

 

*****

 

I took a horse the next day and rode out fast and hard, over the hills and through the woods, far from anyone who knew words or whose face held expression. I must have looked like a warrior, tall and wild on my horse, my hair flying out behind me. I must have looked as though I had somewhere to go.

 

Night fell suddenly, I thought, though perhaps it was the shadow of the mountains falling faster than night itself.

 

He came to me then. I saw in his eyes the understanding that soon, like all the gods, he would fade away, out of human recollection, out of existence. I saw also that his pain was not in his oblivion, but in the knowledge that all his memories of her would pass with him; another piece of her would die.

 

This is what she has done, I said. I spoke rather furiously, my hands forming fists. I can’t love her, I said. Not like this.

 

I love her like this, he said. Like this and in a hundred other ways. I loved her before I knew her, and while I knew her I loved her in so many ways; with jealousy and with hate, with desire and longing, with peace and with fulfilment.

 

I stared at the man who had once wanted to be my father, once my lover. He had longed for my death; he had been many times almost my mother’s murderer.

 

They say she will come again, under some other guise, in some other body, he whispered. But it won’t be her. There will never be another time when the world will see such as she.

 

A sob left me then. How can I love her like this, I cried. But as I cried I loved her.


End file.
